His fault?
by Gurkblomma
Summary: It is all his fault. And he knows it. And the guilt eats him up, inside out. But how could he ever have kept away? It's all his fault. Zutara


**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea. Unfortunatly...**

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**His fault**

He doesn't mean it. But it won't matter. He will do it anyway. Not knowing it and by accident, of course, but does the intent truly matter? He'll do it. What he thinks of it will be of no importance. And no one will ever know. It will be done.

He is walking to his beloved. Excitement fills him when he realizes he will be there shortly. It makes him happy like nothing else. Soon, he thinks, he will meet her. He is walking in the night, in the darkness. He could use his firebending to lighten the night up, but he doesn't. It is a secret. Therefore, stealth has become an imperative part of this. What they would do, should his father or sister figure out – he shakes his head. He does not want to know. But before the night is over he will know. Because that is what happens when you don't really think things through. He will know.

As the woman waits she is happy. She lies in a bed with red sheets and it could bother her less. The redness of everything remains an annoyance. No one knows of this bed, she thinks, no one knows of this very room. That she inhabitats is. Only her and her loved one. So she does not worry. She thinks, ponders, about her dreams, her brother, her life, the moon. Anything really. Nothing of mayor importance. She doesn't have a single thought about the fact that she only has another two minutes to live. It might be due to the fact that she has no idea.  
She imagines him coming in. And she can see how she will lighten up, how he will seem to relax. It is always the same when they meet. She can always see how his face grows less tense, his scar less defined. Not that it matters, he is beautiful to her anyway. She imagines how she will smile. How when he enters the room, she will smile. How when he sinks down next to her, she will smile. How when he whispers her name, she will smile. She won't smile ever again. And it will be his fault.

He would do anything to protect her life. Anything. Even hand away his own. And yet, it will be his fault. How in the final minutes of a woman's life her own family can laugh, is truly a wonder. And her beloved walks closer to her apartment, thinking of how he shall kiss her with all that he is and all that he ever could hope to be, all during this final minute. He imagines how she will think of nothing but him. And then he sees. Sees what only could be his fault. Because he has led them there. Not tonight, but another time. With no intention, sure, but the fact remains that he has.

When the soldiers pound her door in she is stunned, surprised. In which other way should she react? With an attack, she would suppose, had she had the time to think that, but she doesn't. It all happens so fast, during this last minute that she will live. They pull her out of bed, tying her hands behind her back to keep her from bending. In her head she curses herself, because she has the time to do that, it doesn't take long. And then the woman in charge looks at her, with a smirk on her lips, with a horrible look in her golden eyes. Golden eyes very much alike the pair belonging to her lover. So she sobs once, because quite frankly, she can't keep it in. She hears her beloved's sister's voice.

"Take her out on the street. Then kill her. It would be a shame to stain the carpet. Blood has this horrible trait to never wash out."

Because of course the sister recognizes the carpet, of course she sees it as the one her mother, the former Fire Lady, once had. Of course she understands that only one person can have brought it her. And without a doubt the princess knows how it would pain her brother to witness the death of this Water Tribe peasant. During a confession that that is part of her reasons to act the way she does. Her brother is too much fun when upset.

From the street he sees it all. The breaking in. The dragging her out on the street. During an all too long second the Fire Nation Prince can see his sister's evil features, before he meets the ones of his beloved. And then he sees the sword struck through her. Then she lives no more.

Afterwards it will all be too late. Afterwards a young man will remain in a room in a bed which is still radiating with heat from the body of his beloved. Afterwards a man will rise from a bed where he has lain for comfort, even though he has a hole of angst and terror inside him. Afterwards a piece of her blue dress will lie on the floor and he will pick it up and never forget. Because it isn't true that the time heals all wounds. That is not true when your beloved has looked at you with eyes showing she knows she has been betrayed; and time heals poorly when you have witnessed the coldblooded murder of your beloved right in front of you. Time will not do you good, when you shall survive, for the sole fact that you always have owned the title Prince, while she, your beloved, because of circumstances no one but the spirit can change, is supposed to be your enemy.

It will be done. In one minute it will have happened. And it will all be his fault.


End file.
